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^V 






Summer Songs 



BY 

H. H. M. 

And the raven, too, fhall fing. 

Will he, will he? But we will not liften ! 

Well, then, pass on. 







PHILADELPHIA - 

AsHMEAD & Evans 

No. 724 Chestnut Street 
1865 






Jiiitered according to Act of Congress, in the year 18a5, by 

ASHMEAD & EVANS. 

i" the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States 

for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. 



^ ^ ' / 



J. PAOAX & SOIf, 8TERE0TYPEK8. 
I. A8HMEAD t SON, PRINTERS. 



es. 

I 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Proem ....... 9 

suspiria ...... 11 

The Spirit World . . . . .12 

The Bunch of Flowers .... 13 

WiNNIPISEOGEE LaKE . . . . .16 

Heart, Be Still , . . . . . 19 

Common Things . . . . . .20 

Our Gathering ..... 21 

On Laughter . . . . . .24 

Carking Care ..... 28 

Parted . . . . . . .30 

Bittersweet ...... '31 



IV 



COXTEXTS. 



OiR Willie 
Early Lost 

COMB^O MY GrAVK, WhEN ? 

By the River Side . 

England . . . . 

A Song of Manhood 

Let Mb Go . . . 

Fairy Land 

The Burden-Bearer 

Worship 

Liberty . . . . 

The Maiden's Wish . 

Child Pictures . 

MiGNONNE 

The Feast of Stars 

Poetry and Religion 

An Autumn Reverie 

Homeward 

Retrospection 

Heart Room . 

From the Curse op Coquetry . 

The Last Gun of the Arctic 



32 
34 
35 
36 

38 
40 
42 
43 
47 
49 
50 
51 
54 
57 
58 
60 
61 
65 
67 
68 
70 
78 



CONTENTS. V 

On a Painting of Christ . . . .80 

Growing Old ...... 82 

Kossuth ....... 84 

In Vita Mors. ..... 87 

A Song op Venice . . . . . 88 

It Might Not Be ..... 90 

Ode on Emancipation Day . . . .92 

The Coral Island ..... 94 

Alma Mater . . . . . .99 

Fallen Leaves ..... 108 

1* 



SUMMER SONGS 



(Tii) 



PROEM. 

Sours of my noontide^ 

Fast are ye flying ; 
Green leaves of summer 

Fading and dying. 

Echoes of memory 

Yet I luould cherish ; 
Swept hy the autumn wind, — 
Listen; they perish / 

9 



SUSFIRIA. 11 



SUSPIRIA. 

The clearest mid-noon ray, what doth it seem ? 

A dusty beam. 
Bright, purest waters, wherefrom do they flow ? 

Grim caverns know. 

Is any lovely rose that greets the morn 

Without its thorn? 
What makes the swan's lament so sweet a song ? 

It lasts not long. 

In the dim sky above, the earth beneath, 

The air we breathe, 
E'en in our thoughts, are shadows, thick with 
gloom. 

Thrown from the tomb. 

Oft may we strive above them ; but in vain ; 

They fall again. 
There flows for man, on either side the grave. 

No Lethe wave. 



12 THE SPIRIT WORLD. 



THE SPIRIT WORLD. 

The sky is full of stars we do not see ; 

The air has voices that we cannot hear ; 
S]»irits about us mingle ceaselessly ; 

Yon azure dome seems far ; but heaven is near. 

0. we are blind, and narrow in our thought ; 

Gods, all unconscious of divinity ! 
Who would not long to die, if dying brought 

Power all that is, with unfilmed eyes to see ? 

Of the unnumbered host that do not die. 

Lowest are we, by this dull world enthralled : 

Seek not, unveiled, to lift the mortal eye, 
With glory dazzled, or with dread appalled. 

But, would we live as spirits divine and high, 
Pride, passion, pleasure, power, were at our feet; 

Creatures not of the earth, but of the sky ; 

Waiting the hour, when heaven and earth 
shall meet. 



THE BUNCH OF FLOWERS. * 13 



THE BUNCH OF FLOWERS. 

• ■ 

I HAVE plucked a fair bouquet, 
As I walked yon flowery way ; 
Fresh it is, and sweet, and gay ; 
Take it, then, from me, Annie. 

Thou art like it: sweet art thou, — 
What is sweeter? And, as now, 
Thou shalt be, though Time should bow, 
Ever fresh to me, Annie. 

Many flowers are gathered here ; 
All that deck the ripened year ; 
Like to angels they'll appear, 

Keeping guard round thee, Annie. 

And that pure heart's winning graces 
Like these buds, have all their places ; 
Thus a lover's fancy traces 

Types of thee in all, Annie. 

2 



1 4 THE B UNCII OF FLO WERS 

Eden's rose doth hue her cheek ; 
Wouldst thou, lilies? Bid her speak; 
But my types are all too weak 
To foreshow those eyes, Annie. 

Tuberose, or heliotrope, 
Mignonette — none, none can cope 
With the iweetness of the hope 
Thou couldst give to me, Annie. 

Like the lily, pure art thou ; 
Lily-white thy dark-haired brow ; 
Lily fragrance greets me now 
In the thought of thee, Annie. 

Like the rose, in innocence ; 
In thy beauty, bright, intense ; 
In the changes, none know whence, 
That come o'er thy mien, Annie. 

But the stately tuberose. 
That the sweetest odor knows, 
And the purest beauty shows. 
That is most like thee, Annie. 

Who hath crowned the red rose queen ? 
Or rose of any other sheen ? 
Yon group of buds, tall leaves between,- 
TJiy flower, is queen for me, Annie. 



THE B UNCH OF FLO WERS. 15 

Take, then, take my fair bouquet : 
Did I call it fair and gay ? 
All its brightness fades away 
When I look on thee, Annie. 

Thou shalt bloom when it doth wither ; 
Winds shall blow it, none know whither ; 
But thy spirit, One shall gather 
For His crowning wreath, Annie. 

When He brings before His Father 
All His jewel-flowers together, 
If my soul may travel thither, 
May I see thee there, Annie, 

May I see thee, — not as now, 
With a fearful, drooping brow, 
But together may we bow, 
Where we all are one, Annie. 

Take, then, these poor flowers from me ; 
They may rest where I would be,— 
Cherished tenderly by thee ; 

As I fain would be, Annie, 

As I ne'er can be ! 



16 WIXNIPISEOGEE LAKE. 



WINNIPISEOGEE LAKE. 

Toward the mountains blue and hoary 
We have turned our summer way ; 

Where a wide lake spreads in glory, 
Now our gladdened eyes we stay. 

Sweetest of the mountain's daughters, 
How thy bright face shines to heaven ! 

Ne'er o'er purer, gladder waters 

Sun and moon their light have given. 

Echo haunts thy banks forever; 

All those wild hills, side by side, 
Waft thy voices over, — over, — 

Following still that margin wide. 

Hark, the huntsman's gun is pealing ! 

Thunders from each mount rebound ; 
They have reached the heaven's ceiling ; 

Yonder clouds have caught the sound. 



WINNIPISEOGEE LAKE. 17 

And the loon, — loud, shrill, how lonely, 
E'en though answered, that wild cry ! 

Far among the mountains only 
Should that strange voice live and die. 

Gently o'er the still lake's bosom 

Fairy winds convoy our boat; 
Scarce the water-lily's blossom 

Moving, as we* onward float. 

Paradise to form around us 

What now wanteth? Heaven is fair,— 
Earth in beautv's link hath bound us,— 

Lakes and hills, and purest air. 

Only, some we love are absent ; 

Two or three, — not many more; 
But they linger near in spirit; 

Nearer e'en than yonder shore. 

Nearer than this gleaming water; 

Near us, with us, by our side; 
Now we thank thee, blessed Father! 

Every wish is satisfied. 

O'er {he brooklet in the pine-wood. 
Two were with my thoughts to-day,— 

One with eye of sober pleasure, 
One with bird-like step and gay. 



IS WINNIPISEOGEE LAKE. 

On the lake I heard their voices 
Close beside me, whispering soft; 

Now, my very soul rejoices; 
Here my hope is borne aloft ! 

By the beauty of these waters, 

Where the moon and stars do play; 

By yon dim blue line of mountains. 
And the brooks that from them stray, 

Clearer never ran through Eden, — 
By these new and beauteous things 

Altogether, we are bidden 

To believe our souls have wings. 

We are made for things that end not ; 

Distance puts us not apart : 
Is it not so ? Loved ones absent, 

Have we not this hour one heart? 



HEART, BE STILL. 19 



HEART, BE STILL. 

"Heart, heart, be still! 

Vain thy purest, warmest glow ; 

There's little room for such below ; 
Fond heart, be still!" 

" I cannot be still. 

I know it is not ill to love ; 

Else, what do all sweet souls above? 
I will love my fill !" 

" Heart, heart, be still. 
Wounds love makes, may never close 
The thorn lives longer than the rose ; 

Rash heart, be still!" 

" I will not be still : 

Love laughs at laggard fear ; 

Danger maketh joy more dear; 
I will love my fill!" 



20 COMMON THINGS. 

" Heart, heart, be still. 

Woe waits on broken faith; 

Love once, but love till death; 
Wild heart, be still!" 

" I will not be still. 

Love binds, but cannot sever ; 

Truest hearts are warmest ever 
I will love, love my fill ! 



COMMON THINGS. 

Sweetest of things are commonest; 

Blue sky, green earth, and sparkling streams 
0, why, with such pure glories blest, 

So turbulent our waking dreams? 
Because we know not what we have ; 
The blinded heart is Mammon's slave. 

The monarch, trimmed in purple pride, 
Joyed once on tiny feet to tread ; 

Sleepeth as soundly by his side, 

Life's pageant o'er, the nameless dead. 

For crumbs the cave-lodged prophet ate, 

I'd give the wealth of all the great. 



OUR GATHERING. 21 

All voices, from yon dome above 

To the sea's depths, this lesson breathe : 

*' The royalty of Heaven 'w, Love; 
Love for all things, above, beneath ; 

With this, serfs may look down on kings ; 

Without, men are earth's meanest things!" 



OUR GATHERING. 

Another year has ebbed and fled ; 
Its flowers have fallen, its leaves lie dead. 
Another shade on Time's dial-plate ; 
A new leaf turned in the book of Fate ; 
Another note of th' eternal hymn 
Uttered above by cherubim; 
Another wail from the gulfs of woe 
Where the guilty clank their chains below; 
Another sigh from the wind-tossed sea 
Where floats the wreck of humanity. 
All these have passed; and, passing on, 
Other days come, as they have gone. 
The brook still runs in the forest dell, 

Ever so merrily, merrily ; 
The blue-bird comes when the leaf-buds swell, 
And flits when the storm rings Winter's knell, 

Ever so drearily, drearily. 



22 OUR GATHERING. 

But, hearts that dwell in love divine, 

Have a well within of pure sunshine, 

And ever live cheerily, cheerily ! 

We have but little changed, I ween, • 
Since first our gathered group was seen. 
Our life was then a bright May morn, 
When buttercups were newly born ; 
When violets' eyes looked gladly through 
The bright green grass, be-gemmed with dew. 
We met, as ships that sail together, 
But part at night, and in stormy weather; 
We met as reapers in harvest-field, 
Where each hath a sickle or scythe to wield, 
And then to part, and to garner in 
The wheat, or the tares, we may chance to win. 
And what have we reaped? 0, ask not thou, 
But gaze on the lines of each open brow. 
Some have cares, and some have tears, 
And some have joys grown ripe with years. 
Many are sadder, — a few more glad, 
All brows with graver thoughts are clad. 
But three of the reapers were left behind. 
For Death in a golden sheaf to bind. 

Three of our reapers have left the field ; 
One by one, their eyes were sealed. 



OUR GATHERING. 23 

One, in the prime of girihood's day, 
Like a child that hath fallen asleep at play. 
Gladdest of bright things that laugh and love, 
We shall see her sweet smile yet, above ! 
One, in the shadow that fell at noon, 
Sadder than death, until death was a boon ; 
None could weep that grave beside; 
None lament that she had died ; 
Yet who, that saw her once, could deem 
Death was aught but a passing dream? 
And one strove long on the verge of night, 
Like a bird that trieth its wings in flight ; 
Stay not, maid of the care-worn brow, 
Earth has no place for such as thou ! 

These have passed ; and, passing on, 

Others come, as they have gone. 

The brook still runs in the forest dell. 

Ever so merrily, merrily ; 
And the blue-bird comes when the leaf-buds swell, 
And flits when the storm rings Winter's knell 

Ever so drearily, drearily. 
But hearts that dwell in love divine. 
Have a well within of pure sunshine. 

And ever live tranquilly, tranquilly. 



24 ON LAUGHTER. 



ON LAUGHTER. 

Laugh when thy heart is glad ; while the bright 

thought is glancing before thee ; 
Laugh when thy neighbor rejoiceth, kindling 

thy mirth at his. 
Laugh, — 'tis the healthful music of young light- 

heartedness ; 
Laugh, — 'tis a gentle cordial to wearisome old 

age. 
But, let not the sun go down upon thy laughter ; 
Pour not out the strength of any whole day in 

mirth. 
For, as wine, that is good in a little, is murderous 

to the deep bibbers, 
So, much laughter weareth away wisdom, though 

the wise man is often smiling. 

Man is made to mourn, saith the writer ; and 

will ye unsay the proverb? 
0, it is easy to force laughter ; but how long will 

the heart be merry? 



ON LAUGHTER. 25 

Husband up thy mirth, man, thou wilt need 
it in days that are coming. 

There are times when the madman only laughs, 
when the devils fear and tremble. 

Earth is not all a comedy-stage, nor heaven and 
hell a fiction, 

For man to read at his fancy, to amuse him with 
sneers and scoffing. 

We were born amid sufiering and tears; with 
groaning and pain we die ; 

There are sorrows thick ever about us, to beg for 
our pity and love ; 

There are woes that the fool only feels not, beset- 
ting each human soul. 

Then why turn and flee like recreants, or fool- 
ishly close our eyes. 

And, child-like, believe this will hide us from 
the eyes of affliction and death? 

Laugh not at thy brother's trouble, lest it leave 

him and cling to thee. 
0, laugh not at human weakness, when human 

pain shall go with it. 
Thy mirth may unsteady the hand that should 

reach out to raise the falling. 
Search not for cause of laughter in the carriage 

of those about thee, 
3 



26 Oy LAUGHTER. 

Lest thy friends be made to hate thee, for the 
little stings of thy tongue. 

Mark the bright things of outward nature ; do 

they live merrily always? 
Save when the dark storm hovers over, the blue 

skies smile, though not cloudless. 
The earth hath its smile of flowers ; the rivers 

and brooks run laughing. 
How gaily the waves on the sea-beach sport with 

their gilded moon ! 
But, w^hen thunder speaks from heaven, they 

have voices of deeper meaning, 
That the lashed rocks echo solemnly, and the 

clouds bear, rolling still upward. 

Take pattern by these, man, and take to thy 

heart all life's gladness. 
But remember the joy of the mourner, that pass- 

eth the merry one's moment. 
Thou art one of a fallen household, — remember 

its loss and be sad. 
Creation is mourning for man, strive not to be 

more gay than nature. 
If Christ hath redeemed thee for heaven, let joy 

dwell deep in thy heart; 
But hold thine eye fresh for tears, to fall with 

the penitent's prayer. 



ON LAUGHTER. 27 

The Lord hatli atoned for our loss, — rejoice and 

be glad in spirit; 
But man hath rejected and scorned him; shall 

the fountain of weeping be closed? 

Yet, in concourse of Faith and Hope, Love cast- 

eth out all Fear's torment, 
And the good man hath seldom a cloud on his 

soul's clear and holy horizon. 
The sweet smile of charity sits well on the heart 

and the brow of God's children. 
And anon the light laugh of the happy may be 

as pure and as pleasant as psalms; 
But beware of giddy laughter ; 'tis the token of 

wrong-headed folly ; 
And beware of the sneer of scorn ; 'tis the knell 

of thy • good angel's parting ! 



28 CARKING CARE. 



CARKING CARE. 

Woe for carking care, — 

Alas for earthly care ; 
If it were not for its thorns, 

How well would mortals fare! 

Cold it makes our hearts, 
Grim it knits our brows; 

Would that Nature could find, way 
These frozen souls to rouse ! 

Beauteous smileth she, 

Sweetly singeth, still ; 
But the dead and buried heart 

With life she cannot fill. 

Alas for human care, 

Alas for selfishness ; 
Joy would bless us ten times more, 

Craved we but ten times less! 



CARKING CARE. 29 

We are wrong, all wrong; 

We have lost our way ; 
Help us, Light of Heaven above, 

Gone so far astray ! 

Darker, darker yet, 

Grows the perilous wood ; 
Sounds are few, and those we hear 

Are not understood. 

But yonder, yonder, see. 

Through those parting leaves. 

Shines a single, steady star, 
Beneath a dark cloud's eaves. 

'Tis the star to guide 

Truer than the pole ; 
'Tis the star to light and rouse 

The earth-entombed soul. 

Away with mortal care, — 

There's balm for earthly care ; 

Savior ! thou hast worn its thorns, 
And we shall not despair ! 



30 PARTED. 



PARTED. 



Love, and thou, and I, together, 

Made an earthly heaven ; 
Ah, what wind, what stormy weather 

Us apart hath driven? 



Love and I, where thou art not, 

Make sad company ; 
I and thou, our love forgot, 

Sadder still must be. 



When shall we. Love, thou and I, 

E'er again be one? 
When we meet, beyond the sky, 

At life's set of sun I 



BITTERSWEET. 31 



BITTERSWEET. 

Theee is a flower, — I know it well; 

It grows in many a quiet dell ; 

It grows, too, by the home hearth-stone; 

To gentle hearts it oft is known. 

Its blossoms are purple and beautiful ; 

Its berries are bright, with a scarlet hue 
And, would you taste it as you cull. 

It is passing sweet, — hut bitter too. 

Ah, the bittersweet, — the bittersweet! 
How it thrills my heart with an anxious beat 
How the joy of love, and the pain of loss 
Flit as shadow and sunlight my path across ! 
Is there no world where hearts are free. 

Where never a sigh is breathed in vain ; 
Where souls that move in sympathy, 

Meet not in bliss to part in pain? 



32 OUR WILLIE. 

Sweet fhouglits are mine, of hours flown by 

Sweet memories, of a silver voice, 
And a heart as open as cloudless sky ; 

And in those memories I rejoice ; 
But ask me not why I sigh as well, 

Or my bosom throbs with an anxious beat ; 
For I know that, pass they by hill or dell, 

Our paths are grown over with bittersweet / 



OUR WILLIE. 



It is well it is over now, Willie ; 

That weary heart is at rest ; 
None knew better than thou, Willie, 

God doeth all for the best. 



Green buds were on the branch, Willie, 
And blossoms, sweet and white, 

When we laid thee down by the river side. 
And said our last good-night. 



OUR WILLIE. 3.Q 

There were rose-buds on thy breast, Willie ; 

Alas, that they should fade ! 
But the pure heart-love that placed them there 

Was never in coffin laid. 

Thou art gone ; but a little while, Willie, 

0, for a little while 
May thine image lighten our darkened house, 

With a hidden angel-smile ! 

We softly come and go, Willie, 

As though we might break thy rest ; 

And we love each other the better now, 
That we all loved thee the best. 

Time was, when the ring of Willie's laugh 
Was the gladdest earth could hear ; 

That was the silken hlooTYi, Willie, — 
Now the corn's rijpe in the ear. 

The bright warm South had the only clime 
Where thy frail form could live ; 

But there's no more chill in the air, Willie, 
That Eden's gardens give ! 

0, when we stand by the river side. 
While the world beats by like a sea, 

We wish we might sleep with thee, Willie, — 
0, but to rest with thee ! 



34 EARLY LOST. 



EARLY LOST. 

A song-bird's warble hushed in the green wood, 
Where it once gave Spring's cheerliest melody ; 
A sweet flower fallen, and with their tears be- 
dewed 
Who had long loved its sun-lit hues to see ; 
A fountain checked amid its crystal glee ; 

A star gone out, that gladdened the whole 
heaven ; 
These are fair types, albeit faint, sweet one. 

Of the near ties thine early death hath riven. 
Yet, grief hath smiles ; for soon, life's winter 
done, 
That song may greet our ears, that bloom our 
eyes; 
That sparkling fount may make its joy our own, 

Within the gates of long-lost Paradise 
New-found through faith. Friend, sister, daugh- 
ter, thou 
Wast named but yesterday ; what shall lue call 
thee 710W f 



COME TO 3IY GRA VF, — WHEN 9 



35 



C03IE TO 31 Y GRAVE, — WHEN? 

0, come not thou, when clammy dews of night, 
Just fallen on my pale new-coffined brow. 

Attest the last stroke of the conqueror's might : 
Not with that solemn, woful train come thou ; 
Not then, not then. 

Nor by yon heap of dull, unsodded earth 

Gaze thou, where worms have dwelt, and 1 
shall dwell ; 
Musing, how vain Time's loveliest, noblest birth, 
If this ends all, — this deep, dark, narrow cell: 
Not then, not then. 

• 
But, when sweet wild flowers grow around my 
grave. 
Glad in still beauty, thro' long summer noons, 
And birds skip down where the long grasses wave, 
E'en from the tomb swelling most joyous tunes ; 
0, then, come then. 



3G BY THE RIVER SIDE. 

When moonlight smiles upon the abodes of 
death, 
And evening's stillness woos to genial rest, 
Come then ; but think not that I lie beneath ; 
Hath not yon heaven a mansion far more blest ? 
0, come, come then. 



BY THE RIVER SIDE. 

Over the glooming hills, 

Twilight is coming ; 
Low pipes the wood-robin, 

Bees hush their humming. 

In village windows 

Home lights are burning ; 
Cheerly the reaper sings 

Homeward returning. 

Sweets fill the air 

From newly-mown clover ; 
Blossoms fall on us 

From chestnut boughs over. 



BY THE RIVER SIDE. 37 

Fire-flies are flitting 

Around and above us; 
Stars are down-looking 

Like eyes that love us. 

Still rolls the river 

With musical falling; 
All Nature's voices 

Truant hearts calling. 

Maiden, with flashing eyes, 
Sitting beside me, 
I in loving guise 
Speak, do not chide me. 

Up swells the night hymn 
From stream, field and forest 

We praise with thee, Nature, 
The God thou adorest ! 

Kock by the river side, 

I will remember 
The joy thou gavest me, 

Through life's Decemxber ! 



38 ENGLAND. 



ENGLAND. 

" Come wltli me to yon blithe green wood ; 

Weary heart, come with me. 
Walk with me down yon shadowy lane ; 

We shall find sights to see." 

" I have been wandering, far and wide, 

In lands beyftnd the sea ; 
I trow there is naught in yon dark green wood 

Will be half so fair to me. 

" I have stood by the side of the mighty Nile, 

Where Karnak and Luxor lie ; 
I have climbed where Vesuvius sendeth uj) 

Its lurid cloud to the sky. 

" I have trodden the paths of ancient Rome, 
And clambered their mouldering walls; 

I have looked from the height of her jDroude^st 
dome, 
And paced through her art -jewelled halls. 



ENGLAND. 39 

"Where Venice sits throned on her hundred 
isles, 

I have sailed on the silent sea ; 
Where snow shines forever on Alpine heights, 

I've wandered wearily. 

" I have sped o'er the sunny fields of France, 
As the swallow flies through the air. 

Then who shall show me, in all the earth. 
Another sight so fair?" 

" Yet, come with me to yon blithe green wood, 

Or down yon shadowy lane ; 
And I will show thee a sight so good 

It may gladden thy heart again. 

" There are prouder fanes by the ancient Nile, 

Or where the Tiber flows ; 
But nobler far are our cottage homes, 

Whose hearth no tyrant knows, 

" There are bluer skies in the sunny South, 
Where the palm and orange grow ; 

But England is still the fairest land 
That God has made below!" 
Leamington, 1859. 



40 A SOXG OF MANHOOD. 



A SOXG OF MANHOOD. 

What recks my manhood of its life? 
What boots it, pleasure, rest, or strife, 
When all paths lead but to one grave? 
I asked; my soul this answer gave : 

To do is joy : an angel's throne, 
Is his, who lives to men unknown,' 
But, sun-like, shines with cloud-hid face, 
The friend and helper of his race. 

To dare is glory: what are chains 
The world's contempt, the martyr's pains. 
To one who knows that, earned by them, 
The crown of Truth hath gained a geml' 

Like star on its own axis turning. 
Or altar lonely incense burning, 
A good deed done will live, to be 
A light throughout eternity. 



A SONG OF MANHOOD. 41 

Nothing is lost: the whispered word 
" Forgiveness," by the erring heard, 
Borne on the waves of air, will sound 
When Time's last scroll shall be unbound. 

The smile of hope and thankfulness 
That greets the hand outstretched to bless. 
On angels' golden tablets graven. 
Will shine, an ornament of heaven. 



The beauty of the gathered flower, 
Blooming and fading in an hour, 
Lives yet in essence, hived by thought, 
In poet's hymns of glory wrought. 

When, then, thou strivest to dare and do' 
For Good, for Beautiful, and True, 
Let Beauty, Truth and Goodness be 
Themselves thy meed of victory. 

Then, amaranthine flowers shall grow 
About thee, and clear waters flow, — 
Till woe and strife and pain are done, 
And life and love and heaven are one! 



4* 



42 LET ME GO. 



LET ME GO. 

Love thee 
Ask the summer meadow, does it love the dew ! 
Does the earth love sunlight, when the spring is 

new ? 
But, to meet thee unloved, that is loss and woe ; 

Ada, 
If thou canst not love me, let me go 

Happy? 
Those were blessed hours I have passed with thee ; 
On the mountain summit, o'er the bounding sea. 
But, to dream that dream now, threatens pain 
and woe ; 

Ada, 
If thou may'st not love me', let me go. 

Sweet one, 
In thine arms enfolded, I have touched those lips; 
All the earth and heaven went by in sweet 
eclipse ; 



FAIRY LAND. 43 

"Was it only kindness ? Was it love, or no ? 

Ada, 
If thou. dost not love me, let me go. 

Adieu 1 
Of the solemn future nothing can I see ; 
Comes there joy or sorrow unto thee and me ; 
But I fain would love thee, be it weal or woe ; 

Ada, 
If thou wilt not love me, let me go ! 



FAIRYLAND. 

Spent we not our childhood, dreaming 
Of things fairer than earth's seeming? 
Climes, where comes not winter's gloom; 
Where fresh flowers each morning bloom 
Where birds ever soar and sing, 
Of sweeter throat, and brighter wing. 
Than any whose spring notes are hurled 
Upon this heavy, weary world; 
.0 heavy, heavy, weary world! 



44 FAIRY LAND. 

With what beatific vision 

Joyed we in those fields Elysian ! 

As thereto we gathered all 

That in fancy could befall : 

All the wondrous sights there be 

Underneath the deep, deep sea; 

All the golden hills that lie 

In the cloud-land of the sky ; 

And the pleasant sounds that go 

Where sweet waters fall and flow, — 

These should be our company ; 

With a hidden melody, 

Ever made by elfin sprites 

That in flowers find rich delights, 

Who would show us many a gem 

Beneath the water-lily's stem. 

Or, where shadows fall at noon, 

Entice us with some fairy boon. 

Thus we peopled everywhere, 

With wonders, common earth and air; 

Though unseen, through many an hour, 

Yet we felt their secret power : 

And we dreamed of fairer days. 

When, through some tangled woodland ways, 

We should find those tracks unseen, 

Left by fairies on the green, 



FAIRY LAND. 45 

And, following these, through densest shade, 
Where charmed rings by elves are made, 
Should find that open ground at last, 
Where fairy light o'er all is cast. 

0, who hath found that fairy time? 
Who knows that sweet, that cloudless clime? 
All seek it, all await it long, 
We dream its dream, we chant. its song, — 
Yet never, never, find that glade 
With tiny tracks where elves have strayed; 
And never list, 'mid summer's air. 
To sounds that charm the soul from care, 
Winning us far and far above 
This sordid earth, where all is love. 
This is not at our soul's command; 
Yet, to hearts that understand, 
All the world is Fairy Land! 

Each spot of earth hath steps to heaven: 

Each moment has its blessing given. 

There are no marvels writ or sung 

Of any land, in any tongue. 

Of fays unseen by mortal eyes ; 

Of houris in their Paradise ; 

Of Ariels that flit above ; 

Or sea-maids in their coral grove. 

There is no dream of love or glory 

•In olden lay or modern story, 



46 FAIRY LAXD. 

That doth not wane and* tade away, 

Before the light of common day, 

When Faith shines blended with the ray I 

A child of Heaven, and Lord of Earth ; 

A miracle, from very birth ; 

Eeset by fiends, by angels tended ; 

A King, to heaven of heavens ascended ; 

0, what, though all the bards of eld 

One chorus of sweet songs had held ; 

One lay had woven, wild and free, 

To court the ear of Destiny, — 

What could they tell more strange, more grand, 

Than the true tale of Jacob's land? 

What could they sing of heaven above, 

Sweet as king David's songs of love? 

How could they, with their honeyed breath, 

Hallow the parting hour of death, 

Like faith's sweet words, that conquer pain, 

" 'Tis byt to-morrow, we meet again!" 

O, thus, to hearts that understand. 

This world is brighter than Fairy Land. 



THE BURDEN- BEARER. 47 



THE DURDEN^BEAEER. 

Ai.ivn-EL-WAHED, voweci to serve his king, 

Across a desert space was journeying. 

The way was long ; the air was hot and dry ; 

All round, the red sands met a burning sky. 

Not often spread the palm its loving shade. 

Or grass, or flowers a softer footing made. 

Though many a pilgrim trod across the waste, 

Few toward the city of the King made haste. 

As by a lonely spring, he stopped to drink, 

Abed saw one, reposing by its brink ; 

Like man his form, but lovelier his mien 

Than in the daily walk of men is seen. 

*' Brother," the stranger said, " upon thy brow 

I read his service unto whom I bow. 

Behold me, on an errand of great need ; 

Empowered to bid his servants to my speed : 

I bid thee, then, to lay thy burden by 

And bear me onward till day leaves the sky." 



48 THE BURDEN-BEARER. 

" In his name?" " In his name whose sign thou 

wearest ; 
In bearing me, the King's own cause thou 

bearest." 
Abed was weary ; but, without a sigh, 
He laid his pilgrim's wonted burden by ; 
The bread he needed for to-morrow's fare, 
The cloak to shelter from the midnight air, 
The precious tokens of the loves he left, 
His treasures, all ; of all to be bereft. 
For the King's sake. Then, stooping by his pack, 
He bade the stranger mount upon his back. 
'Twas done. But, as tired Abed forward stepped, 
A wing-like rustling o'er his pathway swept ; 
He felt no load ; he, whom he strove to bear, 
Lifted his down-laid burden up with care ; 
Then, on, with angel pinions cleft the air, — 
Far, above all the desert's weary glare ! 
Thus, ere the sun had parted from the west. 
By the King's gates glad Abed found his rest. 



WORSHIP. 



49 



WORSHIP. 



Can my unhallowed hands the offering fire, 

That on the altar of my heart is laid ? 

Shall my feet run in search of earthly bread, 
When for pure manna God hath taught desire ?' 
Were the heaven shut like brass, perchance we 
might 

As creatures wrestle with our black despair ; 
But, m His face there shines perpetual light, 

Who on the cross our penance deigned to bear : 
Our daily bread He giveth, when He will ; 

His voice of love is best in silence heard ; 

So, lest I miss some life-bestowing word, 
Low at His feet I bid my heart lie still. ' 

Cumbered with many thoughts Fll he no more; 

But listen, lest He waiteth at the door. 



50 LIBERTY. 



LIBERTY. 
" He is the freeman whom the Truth makes free." 

As, when the sun above the orient hills 

Ascends, and dewy Night fast backward flies, 

For azure brightness glows athwart the skies, 
And height and depth the new-born glory fills ; 
Forest and field with songs of love resound ; 

The air doth shake with many waving wings ; 
The laughing waters from their courses bound ; 

Each wind and wave a separate anthem brings : 
So fresh and free', so full of joy and life, 

The heart whereon the Sun of Life hath shone ; 

New dawn each morn, new glories ever known, 
Strength for each toil, and courage for all strife. 

Then, let me only live in serving Thee ; 

TJiij yoke is Love, thy law is Liberty. 



THE MAIDEN'S WISH. 51 



THE IIAIDEN'S WISH. 

"I HAVE a wish, my merry maids; — 

A merry wish have I ; 
It came with the snowy flakes that fell 

This morning from the sky." 

" And what is thy wish, thou dark-eyed maid, 
That came with the snow this morn ?" 

" I wish that I were Robin Hood, 
With bow and bugle-horn ! 

" I wish that forests clad these hills 

Instead of the spotless snow ; 
That o'er the heights and through the dells 

The bounding deer might go. 

" Off yonder, — by the forest's edge, 

There might an abbey stand ; 
With Gothic arch, and ivied wall, 

The marvel of the land. 



52 THE MAIDEN'S WISH. 

" There, cowled monks, with solemn tread, 
Should pace their cloister^s through ; 

And Friar Tuck, his service o'er. 
Might join our revels too ! 

" Blithely we'd sound the bugle-horn, 

And merrily hunt the deer ; 
And merrily build the fire at night 

To roast our forest cheer. 

" Oh, if I were but Robin Hood, 

To rove the wild-wood free, 
Then, what were storm, or cold, or heat, " 

Or fear, or care, to me!" 

" A merry thought, my dark-eyed maid, 

This morn has brought to thee ! 
Dost wish that thou wert Robin Hood, 

To roam the wild-wood free? 

"Ah, many a dark and dreary hour 

Those forest rovers knew ; 
When the rain fell fast, and howled the blast, 

The long, long midnight through ! 

" When the listening deer fled far through fear, 

And vainly twanged the bow ; 
Then, Robin Hood, 't were very good 

To dwell where firesides glow ! 



THE MAIDEN'S WISH. 53 

"But, don thy cap, my dark-eyed maid, 

And take thy bugle-horn; 
And call thy merry comrades all, 

This merry winter's morn. 

"And we will be an outlaw band; 

Right bold our revelry ; 
With a good cross-bow in every hand, 

Made from the tough ash tree. 

" Away, away, across the hills ; 

We'll know no bounds to-day; 
Though the deer be fleet, our tireless feet 

Might bring the stag to bay. 

" Away, away, till the night-dews fall, 

And the shadows lengthen fast ; 
Then, home we'll come by the bugle call, 

And the merry dream be past. 

" Oh, 'tis very good in the wild, wild wood, 

When merrily twangs the bow ; 
But, in winter drear 'tis better cheer 

To dwell where firesides glow!" 



54 CHILD PICTIfJiES. 



CHILD PICTURES. 

Father ! that name in heaven 
Most hallowed, and on earth so sweet a sound ; 
Name that to many a king upon his throne 
Is more than monarchy ; which thro' the huts 
Of half-starved villagers sends joy like heaven's ; 
The last faint whispering of whose syllables 
From clammy death-beds, falls upon the heart 
Like cloud-sent bolt, — which, though it come 

from God, 
So much of grave-earth strikes into our eyes 
As blinds our faith with tears : 0, father, father ! 
Within his heart what tender void there dwells, 
For whom none lives to look into his face, 
And smile, and call him " father." 

On that word. 
Oft have I dreams, as bright as Eden hours ; 
Blended with memories of far off days, 
By many a fair page pictured to the mind. 
Till they have grown our own. 



CHILD PICTURES. 55 

There, Eve appears ; 
Mother of millions, but, with tenderest tears 
Over her first-born bending, in new joy, 
The sweetest felt since o'er the thrice-barred gate 
Of Paradise, swift waved the flaming sword. 
Joy too soon marred, — of her own fall first 

fruits ! 
There, Abraham is visioned to my gaze ; 
Sad father, — with his only lamb fast bound 
To the soon kindling altar, and his hand 
Uplifted high to strike, — yet saved the blow. 
Then Hagar, with her tiny w^anderer. 
Straining his parched lips to her loving breast, 
Long dried by grief, alone upon the sands ; 
Alone, save One, Father of all that live ! 
And many a wondering, sad thought is recalled 
Known to my simple, childish ponderings 
Upon his tale, his father's favorite, 
Whom cruel brothers into Egypt sold. 
And, gently, sweetly, on my inmost heart 
Drop, amber-like, the words that called by night 
The infant Samuel. 

With joy, yet with dread 
I list the hallelujahs heard in heaven 
By watchful shepherds, when the child was born, 
First-born of God, the Son of Man divine ! 
Then, falling from those heights, with tearful 

eyes 



56 CHILD PICTURES. 

On humbler royalty I gaze, whose buds 
In England's Tower slumb'ring, were cut off 
Just *ere their bloom. Or, in old days of Rome, 
I see Cornelia with her jewels decked, — 
Noblest of Roman mothers. 

Nor, perchance. 
In vain, I warn my heart with memories 
Gathered from Fancy's fields : ev'n simplest tales 
That taught our earliest smiles and tears to flow ; 
As, of those babes, lone wandering through the 

wood. 
Whom the leaf-gathering birds with songs 

assured 
How God loves children. Or those lovely three, 
Dear household images in every heart, 
Nell, Eva, Fleda. Gladly, thus, my mind 
Revels in thoughts of those sweet, twining souls 
That, vine-like, creep around our ruder being. 
Softening the hardest,- blessing the most gentle. 
Thank God for childhood! 



MIGNONNE. 57 



MIGNONNE. 

Little waif, with soulful eyes, 
Laughing lips, and golden hair, 

We have won thee for our prize ; 
Thou shalt be our darling care. 

As to one the blue sky seeing 

Where calm, sun-bright waters meet, 

In the pure waves of thy being, 
Heaven lies mirrored at our feet. 

Gift us with thy fairy gladness! 

Drops of joy fall, as thou smilest ; 
Who will dare to talk of sadness 

In the long hours thou beguilest? 

If one shade of mortal sorrow 
E'er can fall athwart thy way, 

Thou hast balm for any morrow 
In the brightness of to-day. 



58 THE FEAST OF STARS. 

Antidote for daily care, 

Sweetener of tears and sighs, 

Is the sunlight on thy hair. 

And the love-light of those eyes. 



THE FEAST OF STARS. 

I WEARY of day's troublous scene ; 

0, Night, thy peace is more serene ! 

The stars shall be my company : 

Their bright groups will come down to me 

Their mazy dance I seem to join ; 

My soul olends with their song divine ! 

High on a hill, a peerless hill, 

1 11 take of golden light my fill ; 

Orion, and the Crown, the Lyre, 

And Venus' early fading fire. 

The star of Jove, and ruddy Mars, 

Shall lead our feast, the feast of Stars ! 



THE FEAST OF STARS. 59 

Yon heaven is like a waveless sea, 
Whose islands shine continually ; 
There, angels rove among their shores, 
In sapphire boats, with golden oars, 
On comet wings, or rainbow cars ; 
But, there 's a heaven beyond the stars. 

I dread you not, ye ancient lights ; 
Your date, One yet more ancient writes. 
I, even, shall outlast you all. 
Then, through your bright depths let me call 
Ev'n to th' Eternal Fount of Light, 
For an Immortal's will and might ! 

For thoughts, that live a star-like life ; 
Love, stronger than the earthquake's strife ; 
Hope, not a woe-spent age could quell; 
And faith, to triumph over Hell. 
With these, Heaven may bend down to me, 
And Seraphs bear me company. 



'60 POETRY AXD RELIGION. 



POETR Y AND RELIGION. 

True Poetry is religious, pure, and high; 
So, all true faith is full of Poetry. 
What is the bard's joride, but, as lark in sky 
Or nightingale in covert, or as bee, 
With harmony now low, now loud and free, 
To sing .his soul out pure, o'er cloud or sod ? 
And the lark's wing was feathered by our God ; 
And God did spread the leafy canopy 
That overhangs the wood-bird's nest; and He 
Fills the fresh buds with honey and with dew. 
Where the bee sips and sings, the summer 
through. 

Hence all do praise Him ; and the poet-lyre 
Or soul, that would a song as sweet renew. 

From Him, in nature's fane, must draw its 
fire ! 



AJSr A UTUMN REVERIE. 61 



AN A UTmiN RE VERIE. 

Eed leaves, one by one, are falling 
O'er the crackling forest path; 

Through the sombre pines a requiem 
Wildly mourns the North wind's wrath. 

On the hills hang Autumn's banners; 

Xerxes no such pomp arrayed. 
With heart whose hope like Summer fadeth, 

I love their sad, uncertain shade. 

'Mid rocks that overhang a river, 

O'er-arched by oak and chestnut boughs, 

I sit me down, alone, at noon-day,. 

While solemn thoughts my musings rouse. 

Save the play of winds and waters, 

Nature's voices are no more ; 
Bird-songs linger here no longer; 

Bees have hived their winter store. 
6 



62 A N A UTU.Vy RE VERFE. 

But the horn of distant boatman, 
Softened by an echo near, 

And the merry laugh of children, 
Greet my not unwilling ear. 

Then, the pufF of steamer, passing, 
Brings a harsher note again; 

Or yon monster, all discordant, 
Th' iron dragon, with his train. 

Alway thus, on silent nature 

Break some human sounds of strife ; 

We can never be all lonely. 

While we bear man's common life. 

Seek not in God's wide creation 

For one isolated place : 
God is Love; and in this image 

He has made our human race. 

Not alone, in birth and childhood. 
Learned we our first steps aright; 

Not alone the toil of manhood, 
Or its coming on of night. 

Would ye call the grave-yard lonely? 

Ask yon ghost-pretending stones. 
Ocean hath his millions buried ; 

Desert palms take root from bones. 



AN A UTUMN RE VERIE. 63 

In the old primeval forest 

Seekest thou a lonely spot? 
Monumental mounds are near thee, 

Work of men who now are not. 

Flee far through the dread Sahara,* 
House wdth owls in rock- walled cell, — 

Memories of the past will throng thee, 
Spirits thy hidden thoughts will tell. 

Yet, from life's too earnest combat 

In calm hours to turn aside, 
Where a gentle spirit of beauty 

Seemeth o'er all things to glide, — 

In mute questioning of nature 

To find answer for our fears. 
And to God's more inward speaking 

To attend with earnest ears, — 

Thus we may make bright the armor 
We must wear in sterner fight ; 

Looking back, repentance humbles ; 
Forward, prayer will give us might. 

Thus I call my Past in question ; 

Saying, What wast thou to me ? 
As I mark yon winding river. 

So methinks Life's stream I see. 

*- Thanatopsis, ante. 



G4 AN- A UTUMN RE VERIE. 

When, afar, in boyish prospect 

I beheld it first, how fair ! 
Sparkling in Hope's golden sunshine ; 

But a kind voice said, Beware ! 

Heedless was I, plunging boldly 
Where the ripples brightest shone ; 

And the waves grew dark, and coldly 
Closed above me, one by one 

Gentle river, now before me 

Winding through these autumn woods. 
Have I wronged thee, thus in fancy 

Painting, with my heart's strange moods 

Let me then turn back my musing 
To thy waters and fair shores ; 

Floating o'er that shadowy bosom 
With the play of yonder oars. 

Look ; the wind doth rest a moment 
'Mid the tinted leaves above : 

Now the sunbeam passeth brightest 
O'er those golden hues I love. 

Tranquil here, in life and beauty. 
All things seem, yet full of life ; 

Rich repose, like that of manhood, 
Stillness after toil and strife. 



HOMEWARD. gr 

And, like these leaves 'round me falling, 
Lie my young hopes, withered all ; 

Through my heart their requiem souiiding, 
Sadder seems than winter's call. 

But, I know that they may wither. 
Even in death each trunk may roll, 

Yet the soul shall never need them ; 
Winter cannot reach the soul! 
Laurel Hill. 



HOMEWARD. 

Come Home! 
Brothers and sisters, we have been straying- > 
Far from our Father's house, foes are betraying ■ 
Turn we our feet; it is folly delaying; • 

Come Home. 

Come Home; 
What.have we found in the valleys of pfe^ure ^ 
roison for nourishment, ashes for treasure- 
fc.re we reap sorrow and tears without measure 

Come Home. ' 

6* 



66 HOMEWARD. 

Come Home; 
All the sad sounds in the world that surround us, 
All the hard chains of the sins that have bound us, 
Tell, we are lost, until Jesus hath found us ; 

Come Home. 

Come Home ; 
All Earth's sweet voices gently are calling ; 
Down out of Heaven are angel words falling ; 
God himself seeks for our souls' disenthralling ; 

Come Home. 

Come Home; 
Day unto day in rapt prophecy listens ; 
Far thro' the night-clouds a starry hope glistens ; 
Travel we upward ; love conquers all distance ; 

Come Home. 

Come Home; 
Then, will all true joys of earth ever brighten ; 
Then, will pure love all adversities lighten-; 
Then, \vill our hearts and our robes ever whiten ; 

Come Home. 

Come Home; 
Home, to the rest where Love casts out all 

fearing ; 
Home, to the throne of our God ever nearing; 
Home, to the place of our Savior's appearing ; 

Come Home ! 



RETROSPECTION. 57 



RETROSPECTION. 

We spoke of things long past, — almost forgot ; 
Of days when free, full, natural hearts were 
ours; 
Of those now parted, comrades on a spot 
Where young Hope once, now Memory, plants 
flowers. 
0, Time, thou Eobber!— 'Tis a different world. 
Th^ very skies seem changed, — more dimly 
starred ; 
High fancies from their vision-thrones are hurled, 

And all our airy Edens serpent-marred. 
Woe, thus to think on bright hours that have 
been. 
But for the thought, that such may be again ! 
Such, and far brighter; for we feel within 
The soul dies not, in which such joys could 
reign. 
Heavens bounty grows not old; and, by the grief 
Earth's bondage gives, we know, that bondage 
must be brief. 



63 HEART ROOM. 



HEART ROOM. 

Stars in heaven shine numberless; 

Yet many a blue space lies between, 
Where orbs might rise, with light to bless 

In answered smiles, the sky serene. 

The air, on summer eves, is full 

Of songs ; yet oft a pause will come; ^ 

When other notes our hearts might lull. 
Nor make us wish one songster dumb. 

Never so sweet a wreath we cull, 

But some missed flower might add perfume? 
So, truest love the heart may rule, 

And yet, it oft has aching room! 

Alas, like spheres that roll through space 
Companions, in their mutual light. 

Yet each to each one only face 

May turn, while all the rest is night; 



HEART ROOM. 69 

So, nearest, dearest ties of earth 
Oft leave our longings unfulfilled; 

We know not half each other's worth, 
Till all our love in death lies stilled ! 

The fondest gushings of the heart, 
That flow like streams of Paradise, 

Are oft-times frozen as they start, 
Or fall beneath averted eyes 

0, welcome hour, whose coming rends 
The veil that sunders spirits here; 

When those we faintly know as friends, 
Exult in love that knows no fear! 

0, twilight hour of death ! For this 
We greet thee, harbinger of Love! 

Ask, then, not now, to-morrow's bliss; 
Await life's perfect dawn above. 



'0 FROM THE CURSE OF COQUETRY 



FROM THE CURSE OF COQUETRY. 
Persons. — DoNNA Viola, and Gabriel, a young priest. 

Gabriel. — God's blessing be upon thee, noble 

lady. 
Donna V. — I thank you, reverend sir. Behold, 

in me 
One to the Church a stranger ; all unused 
To forms, and canons, and all holy things. 
In brief, I have no faith ! But, sick of soul, 
I longed to ask thee, can thine office help me ? 
Gabriel. — He whom I serve hath help for all, my 

lady. 
Donna V. — Forgive, then, my unsaintly mien 

and speech, 
And forget thine ordained authority. 
I know not, care not aught for solemn pomp ; 
As man with woman, hear and speak with me. 
Gabriel. — Lady, I am but man, as thou art 

woman. 



FROM THE CURSE OF COQUETRY. 71 

Donna V. — Then, canst thou feel for me? Hast 

thou a heart ? 
Did ever passion set on fire thy blood ? 
Gabriel. — I have a heart ; but never yet loved 

woman, 
Save with affection and pure charity. 
Donna V. — A man, yet ne'er hast loved ! Pray, 

look on me ; 
I fain would read some meaning in those eyes. 
Canst thou not love ? Come, take this hand in 

thine ; 
Is it not gentle ? [Touching his clasped hands.'] 
Gabriel. — Pardon me, noble lady. 
Donna V. — Are priests forbidden to be courteous? 
Take it, clasp it ; there's no infection in it, 
Gabriel. — Pardon me, lady! 0, too tempting 

madness ! [Aside.] 
Donna V. — Thou art as cold as marble. Why? 

Those eyes 
Are beautiful ; that cheek hath a young glow, 
Thriving 'mid penance, like a rt>se in winter ; 
I cannot think thee but a heartless statue ! 
Look upon me ; 
Flatterers have called me beauteous ; think'st 

thou so ? 
There is a ruddy ripeness in my cheek, 
'Tis true, and on my lip a redder glow ; 
And I am light of form, and quick in step ; 



72 FROM THE CURSE OF COQUETRY. 

Bird-like when joyous, tenderest when saddened ; 
In all things warm, impulsive, passionate. 
Yet, did I proffer thee my virgin love, 
Called thee my own, caressed thee, cherished 

thee ; 
Told thee " Sweet Gabriel, I am thine alone f' 
Yet wouldst thou stand off from these opened 

arms, 
Gabriel ! And leave them empty ! wouldst thou 

not? 
Gabriel. — Ay, would I, lady ! 
Donna V. — Then thou art heartless, truly ! 
Gabriel. — 0, no, no, no ! 
Donna V. — They tell me of a canon 
Making all love forbidden fruit to you. 
But can such be divine ? No, never, never 
Nature is eloquent to plead its wrong ; 
Wherefore should man thus war against all 

nature ? 
I tell thee, hoary ages cannot plant 
Kespect upon th^ brows of such gross error. • 
But, man, I waste my words. Thou hast no 

heart I 
Gabriel. — Lady, I have ! 
Donna V. — A heart that holds no passion ! 
Gabriel. — My passions are as warm and strong 

as thine ! 
Donna V. — Then wherefore now so calm ? 



FROM THE CURSE OF COQUETRY. 73 

Gabriel. — [Bising from his seat] 0, heip me, 

heaven. [Aside.] 
Calm, didst thou say ? Yes, the great heavens 

are calm, 
That give forth thunders with a moment's warn- 
ing ; 
And the volcano's crater — it is calm 
Ere it bursts forth, as though all hell were 

wakened ; 
I, too, am calm ; but, in this heart's volcano, 
Passions are sleeping, deeper than tragedy ; 
Stronger than death; more fearful than the 

grave ; 
Which, were they not locked fast by love of 

heaven, 
Would make thee tremble with their lightest 

whisper. 
Donna F.— Fair sir, forgive me ; reverend sir, I 

wronged you. 
Qabriel. — DiingliteY, thou wrong'st me not, nor 

need'st my pardon. 
I came to offer thee my humble counsel ; 
If thou dost need none, duty calls me hence. 
Donna V. — l do, I do ; my mind is dark and 

blind ! 
(?a5neZ.— Knowest thou not the teachings of our 

faith? 

7 



74 FROM THE CURSE OF COQUETRY 

Donna V. — I know not what faith is. The very 

babe, 
Schooled to its cradle-prayers, knows more than I. 
Gabriel. — Knowest thou then thine own hearts 
Donna V. — I never conned it. 
Gabriel. — Then, let me paint it to thee. It is 

evil ; 
Full of wrong thoughts and evil impulses ; 
Each lightning impulse mad to spring in action. 
Do7i7ia F.— How dost thou know me so ? I did 

not tell thee ! 
Gabriel. — 'Tis but the story of each human soul. 
Alas, I know it well ; 'tis mine ! 
Donna V. — Hast thou, too, erred ? 
Gabriel. — Lady, as full as charnel-house of bones, 
Or the salt sea of things that creep and swim, 
So full my heart is of corruption ! 
Donna V. — What can I hope then ? If the best 

are so. 
What room in heaven for me^ 
Gabriel. — 'Tis not by merit; 
But, by God's mercy, best and worst are equal, 
If all but will receive it. 
Donna V. — That is wondrous. 
Thou hast put thoughts into my inmost soul 
That stir it, as leviathans the deep. 
Gabriel. — Rather, dear lady, may they prove as 

angels. 



FROM THE CURSE OF COQUETRY. V5 

Moving it like Bethesda ; whence may come 

Healing, and life, and hope ! 

Donna V. — So may it be. 

I fain would ponder o'er what thou hast said. 

Gabriel. — Take, then, this scroll with thee, and 

con it well. 
The whole world were not worth it, read aright. 
Donna V. — Most strange, I thought not on these 

things before! [Uxit] 
Qahriel. — [Solus.] Peace, battling heart ! This 

sacrifice is sealed ; 
Though it was hard to offer ! Now first waked 
My heart from its dull dream of apathy ; 
First learned that it could feel, and leap, and 

throb. 
In. passion's agony, or passion's joy. 
Now, in the vista of bright, possible things. 
Shone love, an earthly heaven— still stretching on, 
O'erleaping death, even to eternal bliss ! 
Yet this, hope's paradise, I must abandon ; 
Shutting my soul up, like this gloomy cell, 
Against the very light and breath of joy. 
Then, be it so. Father, Thy will be done ! 
Yet, pardon, if some natural regrets. 
Some tearful dallying with soon parted hopes, 
Make this day's prayers less calm ! 

Re-enter Donna Viola. 
Daughter, thy brow is sad. Is 't ever thus? 



76 FROM THE CURSE OF COQUETRY. 

iJonna F.— No, I am wild of spirit as the wind; 
And, often, blithe as the brook's summer song; 
But now, there falls a shadow o'er my thoughts, 
Though sad, yet sweet; I would not, now, be 

merry. 
Gabriel. — Ever more peace with sadness dwells, 

than mirth. 
Donna K— 0, I have heard, in my heart's silent 

halls, 
Echoes as solemn-sweet as vesper-bells ; 
Voices that sound as though from heaven they 

fell; 
And all do question me—" 0, wild, wild heart, 
Why shake not off these foes that wreck thy 

peace?" 
Think'st thou a curse is resting on me, father.? 
Else why, as though by angel ministry. 
Such gentle and yet fearful warnings come ? 
Gabriel. — Daughter, our whole race writhes be- 
neath the curse 
Which the arch-enemy wrought long ago. 
He and his fiends conspire against us ; yet 
They can but offer curses for our choice. 
To barter blessings with, if such we will. 
Donna F. — Needs it our will, then? 
Gabriel. — Aye. 

Donna V. — Then my own hand 
Hath stirred the potion that doth slay my soul. 



FROM THE CURSE OF COQUETRY. "Jl 

But, is there hope for me ? Pray, tell me, father, 
This mesh of hell, can it be torn and scattered? 
QabrieL — One, only, hath the power this to 

ordain, 
And, by His instruments, to work thv rescue. 
Donna V. — Who, who ? 
Gabriel — Thy God. 

Donna V. — Him have I never known! 
Qal^iel—Yet hath He known thee, — aye, and 

loved thee, too ! 
Lady, where slept thine eyes, thine ears, thy 

heart. 
That, in all marvellous things of earth and 

heaven, 
Thou ne'er didst see, hear, feel, and taste of 

God? 
In all things terrible, His might is shown ; 
Through all things vast, shines His infinity ; 
Yet, is it joy, where beauty moves and dwells, 
To read the tale of His eternal Love ! 
In loveliness of the sweet, silent flowers, 
Or morning melody of spring-wakened birds, 
Or the soft light of stars amid the blue. 
And, still more deeply, have I learned of Him, 
In His own chosen temple of the soul. 
Donna F".— These words, I know, are true ; deep, 

deep within me. 
Unheard before, an echo answers them, 
7* 



78 THE LAST GUX OF THE ARCTIC. 

Yet what am I to do, or speak, or think ? 
How learn to love, obey and worship. Tell me 
Gabriel —Ml this, and more, 'twill be my joy 

to answer, 
When a more fitting leisure waits upon us. 
Till then, to thine own thoughts let me commend 

thee, — 
And to thy prayers; mine join with them. 

Farewell. 



THE LAST GUN OF THE ARCTIC. 

A SOUND booms o'er the sea ; 

Loud above whistling shrouds and tumbling 
waves ; 
Blent with wild cries of fear and agony 

From ocean's yawning graves. 

Alone a youthful form 

Stands by the signal gun, gazing aloft • 
"Canst thou, Death, come thus, unrobed of 
storm. 

When every wind breathes soft? 



THE LAST GUN OF THE ARCTIC. 79 

"Now, may God pity us! 

' One hour ago, my thoughts were roaming free 
In dreams of home ; to wake and perish thus, — 
No more that home to see. 

" Alas, my father's brow 

Will whiter grow, with hearing of this night. 
Sweet mother, art thou dreaming of me now? 

0, to die in your sight! 

"With those fond hands in mine, 

But one last kiss of love upon my cheek, — 

So to meet death, I never would repine ; 
But now, God, I am weak! 

" If yon dim speck afar 

Were but a ship, fast hastening o'er the deep ! 
No, no ; 'tis but a pale and flickering star, 

That, soon, shall light our sleep."- 

A voice falls on his ear; 

" Come, Stewart, come 1 There is no time to 
wait." 
The gun makes answer, " If God find me here, 

I cannot be too late!' 

Another wail of woe ; 

The waters roll, and rise, and foam around ; 
And, once more, peals, before it sinks below, 

That gun's far booming sound. 



80 ON A PAINTING OF CHRIST. 

It is not heard on earth ; 

No answer o'er the darkening waves is given ; 
But, angel voices bear the signal forth, 

Up to the farthest heaven. 

0, ye, whose hearts are worn 

With dreary watching o'er life's wreck-strewn 
deep. 
Be still ; though earthly clouds keep back the 
morn, 
God's angels do not sleep ! 



ON A PAINTING OF CHRIST. 

Away ! My eyes can never rest 
In peace upon that pictured face ; 

We see no Godhead there impressed ; 
Not even manhood's highest grace. 

Yet, blame we not a mortal hand 
For failing, where man can but fail ; 

We only blame the thought that planned 
For light divine, so gross a veil. 



ON A PAINTING OF CHRIST. 81 

Of dust like ours His flesh was made, 
Cherished on mortal mother's breast; 

In lowliest cot His head He laid, 
Or had not where to take his rest. 

We dream not, then, of beauty's pride 
In chiselled line, or brilliant hue, — 

Such as, when art with nature vied, 
Praxiteles or Phidias drew. 

Apollo's form might be more fair, 

Jove's mountain brow more bold and grand; 
Far fleeter Hermes' feet of air. 

Far swifter Mars' unsparing hand. 

But Light, and Life, and Love, and Power, 
Could hand or tongue their fulness tell? 

0, might we, for one hallowed hour, 
Before that living Presence dwell ! 

Back on faith's angel-pinions borne, 

We fain would stand where His have stood ; 

Behold him comfort all who mourn ; 
Behold His awful solitude. 

0, if, on stone or canvas graven, 
A vision of that form could live, 

Like prophet's lips, a fire from heaven 
The shaping hand its power must give. 



82 GROWING OLD. 

Look ye for images of Him 

Not in the painter's glowing art ; 

Nor sculptured marble, cold and dim 
But in His temple, the pure heart. 

And look upon the holy brow 

Of childhood, for His angel-smile ; 

Or on their lips who meekly bow 
With grief, yet suffer without guile. 

And let hope whisper of a day 
• When we may see Him, eye to eye ; 
When sin and fear have passed away,- 
Our Friend, our All, eternally. 



GROWING OLD. 

My child, thy cheek is apple red, 

While mine is pale, and fringed with gray 
Thy saddest thoughts are of to-day ; 

Mine linger with the past, the dead. 

Yet, is my hope than thine more bold, 
Though I grow eld. 



GROWING OLD. 83 

Thougli dim to me shall wane the sun, 

His rays may warm me through and through ; 
Yet can I feel the drops of dew, 

"When the moon's course, for me, is run. 

Within me shines a light untold, 
Though I am old. 

So soon shall I have done with life, 
And all things beautiful and good? 
The joys of meadow, stream and wood, 

The peace of love, the glow of strife ? 

No ; worlds before me now unfold. 
That grow not old. 

Twilight shall come with death, the rest 
A weary soul wants, calm as night; 
A dawn shall follow, not too bright, — 
A perfect glory, east and west : 
What then, while thus my heart is told, 
Though I grow old? 



84 KOSSUTH. 



KOSSUTH. 
1851. 

Of Kossuth and the Hun 

Glorious was the day's renown, 
When to battle-strife came on, 

All the might of Austria's crown. 
Her arms along the plain proudly shone,— 

Horse, and gun, and lighted brand, 

In many a bold, determined hand; 

And the bravest of her land 
Led them on. 

But a braver foe they met; 

One who fought in Freedom's name : 
And the Honved swords were wet. 

For the patriot's heart is flame ! 
And back, behind the Danube's frozen stream, 

Fast fled the host o'erthrown. 

Hungary's sword, now Freedom's own, 

Waving o'er Vienna's throne 
See it gleam 1 



KOSSUTH. 85 

Cossacks, why troop ye now, 

Blind slaves, to crush the free? 
Ye, too, in dread shall bow ; 

God fights for Liberty ! 
The Magyar limbs were never made for chains. 

But, with traitors who can war? 

Fiends urge down, from honor far, 

The soul that mounts ambition's car. 
Cursed his gains ! 

Under August's burning sun 

Hosts stood on Vilagos' plain. 
Was a battle lost and won? 

Are the nations free again? 
No, — gloom is on each gallant soldier's brow. 

Hear the death-cry of yon steed; 

His rider's hand has made him bleed : 

So, one* who led his country's need. 
Laid her low. 

Vain the mighty mind and will 

Of the nation's father then ; 
The man of soul unconquered still, 

Orphean tongue and prophet pen. 
Not Washington could save his country then. 

On the generous Moslem's land 

Behold the grief-worn exile stand. 

Tyrants, ye may dread his hand 
Yet again ! 

8 * Gorgey. 



86 KOSSUTH. 

O'er the waves, like bird of might, 

Comes a messenger from far ; 
From the home of truth and right, 

First in peace, as first in war : 
And the captive like a conqueror is borne 

Where the Island Lion's breast, 

And -the Eagle's rock-built nest 

Count it Freedom's pride to rest 
Her war-worn. 

But rest is not for thee, * 

While Europe is a tomb. 
Apostle thou of Liberty; 

Hope-star of oppression's gloom. 
The world starts, aroused, at thy voice, 

And an answer, from the West, 

To Columbia's Exile-Guest, 

Waiting millions, yet oppressed, 
Bids rejoice. 

Hail, Kossuth, hero, sage! 

Trust; thy faith is not in vain. 
The earthquake knell of despots' rage 

Shakes each land from main to main. 
And thrones will fall, like bubbles on the sea, 

And slaves will wake to live as men ; 

And, from pole to pole again, 

Will ring the glorious " eljen," 
Earth is free ! 



IN VITA MORS. 87 



IN VITA MORS* 

Tranquil, almost, as Eden, was the scene 
Arcadian, where the hours, in golden round, 
Knew only gladsome light, and loving sound ; 

Calm, thoughtful days, with calmer nights be- 
tween. 

0, Poet, thou, with heart and home serene. 
Didst look upon the battle of the world. 

As, from the shore, a rescued mariner, 

His barque at anchor, and his sails all furled, 

Beholds the storm-rent ocean's fearful stir. 
The Night had Voices ever sweet for thee. 

And Golden Legends hallowed every day. 

So, Death, the Reaper, turned his face away, — 
To whet his scythe with fire ! Most cruelly, 

Death, dost visit those who had forgotten thee! 

* Written after the death, by fire, of the wife of H. W. 
Longfellow. 



A SOXG OF VENICE. 



A SOiYG OF VENICE, 

Hush! 
Heard you not the boom of a gun, 
Far away, as of battle begun? 
Nay, it was but a dream, I know. 
Not yet, not yet. Vedremo^ 

Domani, Garibaldi ! 

Wait! 
Old am I, but I must not die 
Till the last of our tyrants fall or fly. 
Fear'st thou to hear me? Deeper woe 
Tortures can bring not. Vedremo, 

Bomani, Garibaldi I 

Hope ! 
Daughter, look up. Hast thou tears left yet: 
Mine are all fire; but thy cheek is wet. 
Thy Hector lives, though in ranks of the foe. 
Soon may we greet him! Vedremo, 

Domani, Garibaldi ! 

* We shall see, to-morrow, Garibaldi ! 



A SONG OF VENICE. 89 

Pray ! 
Ave Maria; tlie niglit seems long. 
Where is my eldest boy, brave and strong? 
Where is my youngest, caro fio ? 
God strikes where freemen fight. Yedremo, 

Domani, Garibaldi ! 

Free ! 
Naples and Florence are free, they say; 
Rome but waits for a chosen day. 
Shall we wait longer? By St. Marc, no! 
Una Italia! Vedremo, 

Domani, Garibaldi ! 

Trust ! 
Venice, as still as the midnight sea, 
Watches the dim dawn of liberty. 
Though, like the ocean, her blood may flow, 
Yet will she conquer. Vedremo, 

Domani, Garibaldi/ 



1862. 
8* 



90 IT MIGHT NOT BE. 



IT MIGHT NOT BE. 

A Parody. 

Columbia, one summer's day, 

On the Capitol grounds was making hay. 

Beneath her Liberty cap, a wealth 
Of simple beauty and rustic health. 

Singing she wrought ; and her hearty glee 
Brightened the great world's history. 

JefF. Davis rode on the avenue, 

Humming the tune of the Red, White and Blue. 

He drew his bridle in the shade 
Of a maple tree, to greet the maid, 

And asked a draught from the spring that flowed 
Under the Treasury, over the road. 

She stooped where the cool spring bubbled up. 
And filled for him her silver cup. 



IT MIGHT NOT BE. 91 

He spoke of Cotton, and Territories, 
And Fugitive Bills, and Supreme Decrees, 

Then talked of Secession, and wondered whether 
The cloud in the South would bring foul weather. 

At last, like one who for delay 
Has no excuse, he rode away. 

Once he looked back from the foot of the hill, 
And saw Columbia standing still. 

" Would she were mine," he said as he went, 
"And I this day were President!" 

But he thought of the people, who would not 
• choose 

To give him the chance that place to refuse. 

So, closing his heart, Jeff, rode on his way, 
And left Columbia making hay. 

He wedded Secession, with debt for dower; 
And bought, with Treason, the shadow of power. 

But, when his army grew scant of bread. 
He longed for the Senatorship instead. 

♦ 
And the proud man sighed with a secret pam, 
"Ah, that I were free again! 



92 EMANCIPA TION DA Y. 

" Free, as when I saw that day 
Columbia making Capital hay!" 

Thus, of all sad words of tongue or pen, 
Saddest are these, " It should not have been 

1861. 



OBE ON EMANCIPATION DAY, 
January 1, 1863. 

All hail the hour ! 

Rejoice; the word is spoken, 
With an all-reaching voice, 

''All chains shall now be broken; 
And the accursed power 
TJiat rivets links on soul, and heart, and limb, 

Must die; rejoice!" 
Ye cherubim, 

That look from heaven amid th' eternal rays,^ 
Earth is now worthier of your loving gaze! 

A long eclipse. 

Spreading o'er half the earth a lurid sha^^e, 
Is lightened ; blest as prophets' were their lips. 

By whom the promise of this dawn was made. 



EMANCIPATION DAT. 93 

More blessed they who see 
From fields of sweaty to'l, 
From scourging-post or stocks, 
Or caves of refuge among sheltering rocks, 
Or where devouring flames around them coil, 
The day-spring of their children's liberty ! 

0, is there one, 
Within whose breast a heart of flesh is beating, 
To whom this hour comes not with joyous 
greeting ? 
If such there be, 
Out from that dark domain where tyranny 
Hath stamped his seals of ignorance and pride 

Closing men's minds for aye, 
If there be those who would our joy deride 
For Freedom's triumph won, — 
Far happier the crouching slave than they ! 

The strife rolls on : 
Torrents of blood flow towards eternity ; 
The snow is tracked, as erst the green fields were; 
Men's hands have left the plough, 
■ As though the bounty of the soil had gone ; 
There seems no life except the battle's stir ; 
No mu^ic, save the martial summons now, 
Or funeral marches, when the fray is done ; 
Yet, God, we trust in Thee ; 
Thou lov'st not war, but guardest Liberty ! 



94 THE CORAL ISLAND. 

Though it be yet 
Our destiny to suffer, as with fire 
Yet sevenfold hotter; though our strength ebb 

forth ; 
Though graves fill all our meadows, South and 

North ; 
Though all the worst we dream of, in the fret 
Of panic night-mares, burst upon the day ; 

Yet, ever higher 
Our stars will burn, though earth around decay; 
In pride, in ruin, 'twill our glory be, 
America is free ! 



THE CORAL ISLAND. 

Musing I sat, one summer eve, 

By a window that looked o'er the sea; 
On an old oak seat, in the quaint alcove 

Of an ancient library. 
Musty and dusty the books had grown ; 

Half were in dead tongues writ. 
Who gathered them had been long unknown, 

As they mouldered bit by bit. 



THE CORAL ISLAND. 95 

My eyes fell on an open page 

Of mediaeval lore; 
And, ghost-like, figures of many an age 

Stepped i'orth upon the floor. 

Out from the page quaint figures came, 

And passed through the open door ; 
War-clad knights, with eyes a-flame, 

And maids, who fresh wreaths wore; 
And priestly forms, in cowl and gown; 

One, with high brow and pale, 
Came, and beside me sat him down; 

In his looks I read a tale. 
A sage's life, and a scholar's aim, 

With a glance his age before ; 
A zeal for truth, and a thought of fame ; 

These in his mien he bore. 

"Tell me," I asked, "what strength sublime 

These workers so upheld, 
Whose pages here have conquered Time, 

While Time their lives has quelled? 
Could each a draught of glory drain? 

Was gold a prize for all?" 
" Not so ; the meed of most was pain ; 

The wreath came with their pall. 



96 THE CORAL ISLAND. 

Who longs for fame, must in his heart 
Contemn it most when won ; 

For fame nor gold the noblest part 
Of man's work ne'er was done." • 



"What then, what then?" "In thy own soul 

Look, if thou art a man. 
See how the least reflects the whole, 

In the All-Father's plan. 
No drop of dew, in lowest vale, 

But to the clouds aspires ; 
But, stronger powers than sun and moon 

Move tides in our desires. 
We own the instincts of the skies ; 

Though, oft, we know it not; 
So out of ashes glories rise, 

Whose fires we had forgot." 

Calmly he spoke ; then turned away. 

I gazed out on the sea. 
Slanted the purple sunset ray 

Wave-broken, tremblingly. 
I saw an island, westward lying. 

Embosomed in the deep ; 
Its spice-filled breezes, round me sighing, 

Lulled me to visioned sleep. 



THE CORAL ISLAND. 

Then, far away fled days and years; 

Hours grew to centuries; 
All voices parted from my ears, 

'Mid ancient silences. 

Under the deep, where corals grew, 

Round a sea-drowned volcano's brow, 
I followed the sunlight the billows through 

Of an ocean, blue as now. 
Each storm that heaved the waves above 

Made strong the rock below; 
As souls that build on patient love 

Draw strength from strife and woe. 
Ages on ages, still they built, 

Slowly and silently ; 
Till, at last, all day their tops were gilt 

By the sun, above the sea. 

White shines the rock, like a giant's crown, 

With a lake within its rim; 
And in and out, from the ocean's depth. 

Sea-monsters creep and swim ; 
And over the edge the sea-weeds float; 

And, wave-washed from the shore. 
Come germs of many a flower and tree 

That far off forests bore. 



97 



98 THE CORAL ISLAND. 

Now, green in its beauty the island stands, 

The first-born of the sea; 
So brave is the work of those tiny hands 

That build all silently ! 

I dream no more. But, my hope is strong ! 

0, longing human heart, 
None wait in vain, though patient long 

In Gods plan each has part. 
Scholar, look up ! Thy golden truth 

Wrought out in lonely hours, 
May buy some coming nation's peace, 

Or give the world new powers. 
Ye workers in untrodden ways. 

Build, as ye have begun ; 
Above Time's waves, your pile shall gaze 

On the Eternal Sun! 



ALMA MATER. 99 



ALMA MATER. 

Spoken before the Alumni of Haverford College, 1858. 

I. 

0, MOTHER of our manhood's bloom! 

Eternal youth sits on thy brow ! 

So, as I gaze upon thee now, 
Old thoughts, yet ever new, find room. 

New, ever ; does returning Spring 

Tire, with its budding miracle? 

The skylark cheers to-day, as well 
As when the first dawn gilt its wing. 

So may our spirits, while we stand 
Beside thy springing well of youth, • 
Renew their freshness with its truth, 

To look back on the Blessed Land, 

Nor look in vain : although we see 

Thro' tear-dimmed eyes, half closed with pain: 
While glimpses rack the beating brain, 

Of what we were, and are to be. 



100 ALMA MATER. 

0, when those gleams come back to me, 
I seem to tread, alone, these halls ; 
All else, but pictures on tli»e walls ; 

The mirage of a desert sea. 

I bound, again, with boyish fire. 

Across this lawn, thro' yonder wood; 
To pluck each hour's abundant good, 

Nor languish with a vain desire. 

Come back once more, thou charmed heart, 
That knewest not the curse of Time ! 
What would we with the vast sublime, 

When flower or stream might heaven impart? 

Yet, soul, thou wast a chrysalis — 
A bird within a tiny shell. 
That liked its little kingdom well, 

And held that arch the bound of bliss. 

And now, we crack the prison wall, 
Too free ! Those bounds, unknown before, 
We reach, to feel but more and more. 

Yon sky has weight — 't will one day fall ! 

Yet the caged bird will beat the bars 
That hold it in from upward flight : 
So, 'mid the round of day and night. 

Our spirits knock against the stars. 



AL3IA MATER. IQl 

Might we but overpass the bound 
That narrows in our little view, 
The tangled chain of good and true 

That threads the worlds, might be unwound. 

Could we revisit the dead Past, 

Or outrun Time a thousand years — 
Find the unfathomed source of tears, 

Or learn how long their tide shall last — 

But, we hnow nothing ! Is it best ^ 
To know, that we are blind indeed? 
When faith our eyes from film hath freed, 

We shall thank God for this unrest. 

II. 

As one who some Assyrian stone 
Digs up, to con each mystic line, 
Till the strange characters combine 

In chronicles of days unknown — 

Thus, in one little life, we find 

The key-note of the Universe ; 

The eternal hope, the mortal curse. 
The all-power of omniscient Mind. 

We mourn our childhood ; it is well. 

The World has had its childhood too. 

Untold the years through which it grew; 
Its length of days what tongue shall tell! 
9* 



102 ALMA MATER. 

The birth-song of our mortal race, 
Echoing through the ages on, 
Fearfully tells of glories gone, 

Leaving no sign to mark their place. 

Who hath seen Eden? Dream on dream, 
Arcady, Tempe, Cashmere blending, 
Eve's garden dwelling oft transcending, 

Only in poets' visions gleam. 

God spoke* with man. In every tongue 
Brokenly lives that utterance — 
As well where stark Australians dance, 

Aa Europe's cloud-tipped spires among. 

Not Sinai's aw^ful mount alone 

Bore witness of the Infinite ; 

On earth and sky His name was writ ; 
To contrite hearts His love was known. 

Pharisee, what knowest thou 

Of truths, the self-slain Brahmin holds 
More real than his garment's folds — 

The spirit-life, the eternal now? 

The Greek, apt Nature's pupil, caught 
The worship of the beautiful: 
Nor vainly did Art's masters cull 

All that the earth and heaven have taught 



ALMA MATER. iQo 

Even amid thy ruins, Greece ! 

Linger the sunset rays of art. 

What strains that rouse or melt the heart 
Were dumb, had Homer held his peace ! 

The fairest things that men have done 
Were not; Rome's marbles frozen yet 
Might lie, Avithin the mountains set, 

Had Athens not a Parthenon. 

Apelles, Phidias, Sophocles — 

What name, in all our boastful throng, 
Will gleam, like theirs, the years along, 

A beacon light o'er midnight seas? 

Not Rome, in all her majesty. 

Proclaimed a message so divine ; 

Though taught, in glory and decline, 
The might of Law and Liberty — 

The power that with a State abides, 
While each for all will do and dare. 
These laurels Rome shall greenly wear 

When all her pomp oblivion hides ! 

But, on Judea rose the Star 

Whose coming brought our perfect day : 
Houseless an infant monarch lay, 

Whose ministers the angels are ! 



104 AL3IA MATER. 

Miracle above miracles ! 

The bloodless conquest of the world — 

In dust a thousand idols hurled 
To the sweet tune of Sabbath bells. 

0, madness of our human kind, 

That all those idols rose again ; 

New-named, in many a Christian fane, 
Where wilful blind yet lead the blind ! 

But, summer clouds quench not the sun ; 
Nor fails it with each dull eclipse : 
Some word of power from holy lips 

Is spoken, and new hopes are won 

With Luther, thunders rent the air — 

Half quenched the infernal fires of Rome : 
But, lo ! the gladdening sunbeams come, 

With Fox's wrestling, silent prayer. 

Boast not of valor. Chivalry! 

Thy mailed form and armed hand 

Had quailed, where Christian warriors stand 

Dauntless, in Truth's own majesty. 

What though no bard their prowess sings; 

No murd'rous deed their scutcheon stains ; 

The martyr hhod that luanns our veins, 
Is better titan the blood of kings. 



AL3fA MATER. 105 

Wait till the truth be known as true ; 
Wait till the honored are the great : 
When kings and priests fall out of date, 

God's heroes, men will honor you ! 

Brothers, for us to honor them 
Were better than ancestral pride. 
Alas ! if with them worth have died, 

The sap dead in the parent stem ! 

Hope on ! The night is not yet near : 
To faith no night will ever come. 
This world shall yet an angel's home 

Be made, when Love quells Hate and Fear. 

Away, then, signs misunderstood — 
Phylactery and Shibboleth — 
To all who breathe the Christian breath 

Give the free hand of brotherhood ! 

Fling wide the banner of the Cross ! 

Its motto, Faith, Hope, Charity ; 

Its conquests, every land and sea: 
Its triumph's arch, the grave across I 

III. 

for a telescopic glance. 

To pierce right through the heart of things — 
Beneath the shadow of Time's wings 

To watch the centuries' advance 



106 ALMA MATER. 

A hundred years ! From crumbling thrones 
Fall Europe's bloodless dynasties; 
Gaunt fossils of dead histories, 

Stranger than megatherial bones. 

A hundred years ! Infuriate war, 
The lunacy of nations, quelled — 
Electric fires its falchions weld 

To girdle Trade's triumphal car. 

Lo, China risen from the dead ! 

The golden gateways of the East 

Wide open : a perpetual feast 
On Ocean's myriad islands spread ! 

Land of the simoom and the waste, 

0, thirsty land of Africa ! 

Thy tears have washed the curse away 
AVelcome thy wanderers replaced ! 

Where Orinoco greets the sea, 
And by Fuego's dreary verge, 
Behold the Cross, without the scourge — • 

A mighty union of the free ! 

Thou Eagle of the North, ivh^se nest 
Was fouled, too long, with Lions prey, 
Yet shalt thou ^neet the eye of day 

Without a blood-stain on thy breast/ 



AL3IA MATER. 107 

Unsullied be the glorious page 

Whose record thy hereafter shows ; 
Last refuge from the old world's woes, ■ 

Hope of the new and brighter age ! 



IV. 

The shadow on Time's dial-plate 

Moves slowly onward towards its noon. 
Shall the task- hours be over soon ? 

White harvests answer, " Work, and wait.' 



V. 

Then what am I, and what are we. 

That breathe such boldness in our songs. 
As though to us some right belongs 

To ask, what shall to-morrow be? 

The perfume ebbing from the flowers — 
The down upon the insect's wing — 
Earth hardly knows so frail a thing 

As mortal life, this life of ours. 

Our sweetest songs are full of grief; 
Our over-laughter bringeth tears: 
So float we down the stream of years, 

As floats the withering autumn leaf. 



108 FALLEN LEA VES. 

Yet, welcome Hope flits often by, 
And Memory maketh sweet amends: 
Pardon me, therefore, gentle friends, 

Loving, too well, their company. 



FALLEN LEA VES. 

LEAVES ! The paths whereon ye lay 
Were oft-times weary to my feet ; 

For life has many a dreary day, 

When no bright thing our eyes may greet. 

Perchance 'tis vain ; to other eyes 
No comeliness my wreath may wear ; 

Yet, why are songs more vain than sighs? 
And sighs and songs both lighten care. 

Then, since the chaplet hath been wove, 
It shall not shun the gazer's eye : 

But, thou who canst not look in love 
Unscornfui may'st thou pass it by. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS ^XIWa 

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